Valentines Day Massacre
by lamentomori
Summary: Valentines Day, the most romantic day of the year or an opportunity to remind yourself that you're single? Colt has a date and leaves Punk at home, only to return to an awkward and underwhelmingly emotional conversation. Warnings: 7Sins Continuity, 2nd person Colt PoV, Minor Slash (Colt/Punk), Mild Het Smut, Profanity, Briefly mentioned OC.


Warnings: 7Sins Continuity, 2nd person Colt PoV, Minor Slash (Colt/Punk), Mild Het Smut, Profanity, Briefly mentioned OC.

* * *

You probably should be playing this way cooler, it's nothing overly exciting and yet you feel scarily like you did as a teenager heading out on your first date and given the amount of time between your dates, really this may as well be your first one. It's been months since you last date, far too many months in this particular drought, an actual proper date is something to be rather excited about, even if it is a blind one. You've been set up on a double date with Prazak, you're mildly concerned but Dave has generally solid taste and it's Valentine's Day, there is nothing more able to depressingly confirm your single status than being home alone tonight.

"Cabana, you here?" You sigh and shake your head, you've not seen Punkers in weeks, you were away in Europe for a few dates and then on every show he wasn't. A good part of you wants to blow this date off and spend some time with him, the rest of you knows he's probably here hiding from his girlfriend, this one has lasted longer than you'd expected, Ace is so going to win this round.

"In here." You mutter and before long he appears on your bathroom, a lazy grin spread over his thin lips.

"You look _fancy_." He stands far too close behind you as you try and fix your hair, it needs trimmed; it's straying dangerously into Jew-fro territory. He presses himself against your back; you can feel his warmth seeping through your thin button down shirt. "You going somewhere, Cabana?" He starts pressing soft little kisses to the back of your neck and you feel a shiver run down your spine but you don't have time for him, you need to leave in ten minutes, fifteen at the most.

"Stop it." You swipe at him absently, straightening your collar and brushing imaginary dust from the fabric.

"You _are _going somewhere?" He sounds incredulous, as though he can't fathom the idea of you doing something without him.

"Date." You mutter, leaving the bathroom and going to put on your shoes, he trails along behind you.

"_Date_? You have a date?" He flops on the sofa and stares at you. "When the hell did _you_ get a date?"

"Fuck you." You scowl at him and stand, slipping on your jacket and tying it. "Get out." He looks mildly offended, his hand pressed against his heart.

"I need to hide out here." He fidgets on the sofa slightly and rubs the back of his neck; you remember the painfully public argument between the girlfriend and him about Valentine's Day just before you left for Europe. She didn't take too kindly to being told it was a pointless holiday invented by thieving Greeting's Card Companies to separate fools and their money.

"Take her to the park; it's romantic and cheap, asshole." You aren't in the mood for being harassed by his girlfriend _again_; this one is pushy and _loud_. If he doesn't take her out or at least spend time with her, she'll be furious and annoy you because your best friend is an asshole who doesn't deal with angry girlfriends.

"But my principles!" He gets to his feet and definitely looks offended. You shrug at him, at this stage you don't really care, you need to leave and without sparing him another glance, you head for the door, pausing briefly to tell him.

"Lock the door when you leave."

The restaurant is nice, subtly intimate and looks more expensive than it is; thankfully, Dave is as frugal as you are. He's sitting with two women. One hot, big tits, her legs, the little you can see from the angle she's sitting at, are on the disappointing side but the overall package is hot. The other girl, Prazak is staring at like she's been sent from heaven, solely for him, her nose is big, her teeth are bigger and she's too skinny, she looks oddly like Bugs Bunny in drag but whatever, Dave seems more than interested.

"Scott!" You hope against hope Prazak isn't at the handsy stage of drunk, you're already a member of S.P.E.R.M. and you don't need that card punching again but all he does is stand and give you a light hug.

"Isn't she perfect?" He whispers in your ear and you find yourself smiling vaguely. You don't have the heart to tell him he's gazing lovingly at the real life version of Bugs Bunny.

"Sorry I'm late, was held up unexpectedly." You mutter, shrugging out of your jacket and draping it over the back of the chair, sitting beside the hot chick.

"Punk?" Prazak seems to be attempting to gain courage to do more than gaze in an increasingly creepy fashion at Bugs, by drinking more wine than everyone else at the table, the wine bottle is beside him and almost entirely empty. You shrug and start reading the menu.

"Of course Punk, when is it not Punk?" You don't bother looking up from the menu, silently hoping you can put the subject of Punkers to bed, you're here to get laid, not discuss Punk.

"What's Punk?" The hot girl asks, extending her hand and telling you her name, you get the awful feeling you're going to forget it shortly.

"Scott's wife." Prazak grins and fishes his phone out of his pocket. You don't particularly want Prazak showing her Punkers, you really don't need _another _woman deciding she'd prefer him to you but you don't think Dave would appreciate you throwing his phone across the room.

"Hmm." Hot chick smiles up at you after glancing at the phone. "It's only gentlemen who prefer blonds." Her smile gets bigger and you feel mildly uncomfortable under her calculating gaze. You get the feeling she and Dave may be on the same page when it comes to dating.

You're half way through the meal before Bugs says anything to you, you're mildly buzzed, Prazak is almost at the molesty stage of drunk, you're wary of going to the bathroom, you'd have to walk by him and your pants cling to your ass a little more than you'd like. It would be inviting grabbing, slapping, or squeezing. Hot chick seems to be a very similar drunk to Dave and has been randomly touching you all night.

"Dave says you went to University, did real well too. Which begs the question, why are you doing this _wrestling_ thing?" Bugs is clearly not a mark, you have no idea if hot chick is or not, she's not done much but stare at you and drink, she's like a hot lady Prazak. You're honestly not sure, how to explain why you're a wrestler to someone who doesn't understand why you love it; how to put into words why you willingly endure all of this shit, just to roll around in the ring.

"I just am." You say with a shrug. "It's my dream." She looks at you oddly, her head tilted and her mouth a quirky little line.

"He's in it for the chicks too." You're going to smack Dave. "Course they all want the wife. Poor Cabana, cruse that bro-code!" Smacking has been upgraded to punching him, smacking may not make your point eloquently enough. Hot chick laughs, her hand coming to rest on your arm again.

"I don't think the _wife_ is hot." She has a flirty little smile on her lips and you return it easily.

"So what is it you do, Scott?" You've been asked this three times already, honestly either she's stupid, drunk or not all that into you, the amount of wine and staring she's been doing leads you to believe that option one or two is the most likely. Drinking tends to make people forgetful after all.

"I'm a wrestler." You're slightly more drunk than you had intended to be and you've really not been able to remember her name, hot though she is, she's not _memorable_. She touches your arm, squeezes your bicep, rests her head against your shoulder, it's all rather pleasant and enjoyably flirty.

"_That's _why you're so strong." She smiles softly and you are certain that you're going to have sex with her by the end of the night, she might not be _that_ into you but she is clearly up for it and you've not slept with a woman since you first did_ things_ with and to Punkers last year. A large part of you blames him for your drought but honestly, it's hard reconciling yourself with the idea of sleeping with someone else, even though you aren't dating Punk it feels weirdly like cheating. You don't want to be dating him, you're not gay and yet you have what is undeniably very gay sex with him, will likely continue having sex with him and yet still will want to date pretty ladies with big tits. You can't quite settle it all in your mind, the only thing you're entirely certain of is that you enjoy fucking Punkers. You've considered asking him how he's got this whole thing between you justified because you just _know_ it's going to be an awesomely insane example of Punk logic, one that you'd like to be able to apply to your own life so you can get some when he's away.

Prazak decides that he needs more courage to approach Bugs romantically and so you find yourself in a club, dancing with hot but nameless, your hands skimming over her in ways only appropriate in places like this. She writhes against you pleasingly, sinks more alcohol, getting more giggly, flirty and into you as the night goes on.

In the end you go back to her apartment, she tastes of cheap alcohol mixed with non-brand soda, her skin smells of tobacco and really, you think that you're possibly taking advantage of her inebriated state but she doesn't stop you from kissing her. She doesn't stop you from slowly stripping her dress from her body and cupping her potentially surgically enhanced breasts, tweaking her nipples, drawing pleased giggles from her.

"Hmm, c'mon." She leads you to a bedroom that feels like a single woman's, perfume clinging to the air, masking loneliness and too many nights spent watching romantic comedies with cheap wine and over-priced takeout in bed. You wonder briefly if your apartment has the male equivalent vibe. You press her down against the bed and kiss her, gently groping at her breasts, then stroking down her stomach, sliding you hand into her underwear, finding her already damp and warm.

Having sex with a woman is something you've sorely missed; sinking inside the warm wetness of a female is so very enjoyable. She's loud in bed, loud and passive, not pushy in anyway, letting you fuck her in all manner of positions, on her back, her front, her side. You come in her mouth, a rather pleasant sixty-nine to finish. She falls asleep almost immediately but you feel wired, buzzing with energy. You consider waking her up but it seems cruel, you write your number on a piece of paper and leave quietly so you don't wake her.

When you finally make it home, it's almost five am. Your door is thankfully locked, your glance at your phone, to check the time, showed a distinct lack of texts from Punkers' girlfriend so you assume he took her out or at least went to her place. You lock the door behind you and make your way to the living room, taking off your jacket and shoes, dumping them behind you in a trail to be sorted in the morning, when you've sobered up and collapse on the sofa.

"Get off me, fucker!"

"_Punkers_?" You collapsed on top of him; he's lying, squashed, beneath you, looking at you with sleepy eyed annoyance.

"You stink, get off." He shoves at you as best he can, the way you're laying on him is keeping his hands trapped.

"The fuck you doing here, Punkers?" You ask him, stroking his hair out of his eyes.

"Told you." He yawns and tries to squirm out from under you. "I need to hide out here." He looks oddly _embarrassed_.

"Why? Shouldn't you be at the girlfriend's?" You're definitely confused by this, the girlfriend will be furious with him.

"She dumped me." Well, that explains that, without her he's basically homeless and he looks all kinds of miserable about making that confession.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You ask him, it's not like him to put off telling you when he's single; it generally means you get to have infinitely more sex together.

"When? You were away, we were busy." Weak reasoning you think to yourself, you were in constant communication all that time, he could have told you. "It's not important. Get off me!" He tries shoving you off of him again and fails once more.

"Punkers." You move slightly, let him free his hands and then settle more comfortably on top of him, your head under his chin. "That's bull." He sighs and you can feel him shaking his head slightly.

"It wasn't important." You sigh and twist to face him, trapping his body in place beneath you; his hands flail uselessly, before settling around you, holding you close and absently stroking your back.

"Not important?" You ask him, whatever the excess energy you had left over was; it's slowly fading now that you're settled somewhere warm and comfortable, for all his being smaller built than you, Punkers is a surprisingly comfortable bed. You tuck your head under his chin once more, nuzzling him softly.

"Nope. How was your date?" He seems to have given up trying to persuade you to get off of him and resigned himself to being your pillow.

"Okay, I think." You mutter, he smells like your shower gel, you suppose he stole your shower while you were out.

"Only okay?" His hands keep stroking your back, soft and soothing; you can feel sleep encroaching on you, talking seems like a great deal of effort right then. "You stink, did you fuck her?"

"Hmm?" You moan sleepily. "Yeah."

"Gonna see her again?" He sounds odd; his tone isn't familiar to you, kind of wistful and a little maudlin.

"Maybe, left her my number." You yawn and nuzzle at his throat. "What's with the twenty questions, Punkers?" You feel him shrug and squirm slightly beneath you; one hand strays into your hair, tugging on it slightly, before cupping your head and scratching at your scalp gently, like you were a dog.

"Taking an interest, is all." He sighs. "You've never had a girlfriend since we, you know." He trails off, it seems oddly like this is something he does and doesn't want to talk about. You sigh, you aren't sure if this is going to be a round of hypocrisy on his part or not, sure you've never had a girlfriend in the time you've been fucking but he's rarely been single.

"What's this about, Punkers?" You know you sound more than a little frustrated, his hands still in their movements and he moves the leg not pressed against the back of the sofa, wraps it over your own.

"You don't seem like the type to cheat." He mutters softly, his voice curiously mournful.

"And you are?" You ask him, this is clearly going to be a heavy conversation, you try to move from where you're lying on top of him but he clings to you, keeping you pressed against him firmly.

"It's not cheating." His says resolutely. "You're you, we're us, it's." He trails off and sighs, shaking his head.

"I'm me, we're us. It's what?"

"It's not cheating because it's different, it's." He sighs again, you attempt to move so you can look at him but he keeps you pressed against his chest, not letting you go. "I love you." He says finally, you nod and laugh.

"I love you too, Punkers, what's the point in this?" He sighs, and squeezes you tightly.

"I love you but I dunno, it's, _this_, I don't want to _date _you, I just." You want to laugh at him again but you get the feeling that wouldn't go over too well. It would seem that Punkers hasn't applied any kind of logic to the situation at all, he's been _dwelling_ on it without making any progress.

"You've been brooding." You tell him trying to keep the amusement you feel out of your voice, he snorts and raps you on the back of the head with his knuckles.

"I don't brood, I ruminate, I consider, I." You interrupt him before he makes this a tirade with a soft chuckle.

"Brood. Punkers, I love you but I'm not _in_ love with you. What we are, it's us, okay?" You feel him nod, his chin pressing against the top of your head. "It won't change alright? Single, dating, married, you and me, we're Punk and Cabana, that doesn't change." You speak firmly, finality colouring your words, your relationship, its set in stone in your mind. You need him and he needs you, you understand each other without the hassle and annoyance that other people come with, you love him, he loves you and that is that at the end of the day. It doesn't need justifying, not really, it is what it is and that all that matters.

"Okay." He says softly, you feel him kiss your hair and squeeze you tightly. You lie peacefully together for a while, listening to him breathe, your mind pleasantly blank, not quite awake and not quite asleep, until his voice cuts through the silence. "You still stink, go shower." With a groan you stand, offering him your hand.

"Come with me?" He grins lazily and lets you haul him to his feet, he wraps his arms around you and kisses you softly, he tastes nothing like the hot chick, he tastes like himself. The taste of your scruffy idiot of a best friend is utterly unlike anything else in the World.

"I guess." His grin gets bigger, more devious; you get the feeling there's not going to be a whole lot of washing involved in this shower. "It is Valentines; we should do something to celebrate."

* * *

_Happy Valentines Day if you celebrate it, Happy Bolero Day if like me you choose to celebrate Torvill and Dean winning Gold instead. :)_

_For those of you interested I am once more home and Comet the Third is being penned in the crazy note at the moment._

**_Reviews are always nice, so if you enjoyed it or if you hated it let me know. Requests or smutty prompts are always cheerfully accepted. :3_**


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